There are still twelve minutes to go before the train leaves. Standing on the platform, he hands her the backpack he has been carrying. She slings it over her right shoulder, letting one strap dangle free. She also has a large shopping bag, its straps cutting into her left arm. And her purse. Weighed down by all this, she looks like some sort of pack animal, bags bulging out on both sides. When he reaches over to hug her goodbye he cannot get his arms around her. Nor can she raise her arms to hug him back. They embrace tentatively, awkwardly, like crabs scuttling together, their shells in the way. This will not do. Stepping back, she slips the bags from her arms, places them carefully to one side, then comes forward to embrace him again. This time his arms encircle her waist easily, hers slide around his neck. They kiss.
Two minutes later they are still kissing, oblivious to the people passing by.
Three minutes later she is drawing back, pushing her hair back in place, bending to pick up her bags. With them safely on her shoulders again she grows casual, distant. She waits patiently while he touches his fingers to her cheek, then nods a hasty goodbye, climbs into the train, vanishes.
For a moment he considers following her. There are still seven minutes to go. He could help her settle in. But no, entering the train itself feels like an intrusion. He draws back from the door, backs up against the nearest pillar. He will just wait until the train leaves.
For a while he just stands there, whistling softly to himself, trying not to wonder why she doesn't come out again. He checks his watch. Still five minutes left. She probably thinks he's gone home already. He could go in, surprise her. No, that would seem too needy. Why doesn't she come out and say goodbye? Maybe he could just walk along the side of the train, peering into the windows until he spots her. No, that's absurd. He doesn't want to make a scene. It would be best if she came out. It's the least she could do, after he's come all this way to see her off. What is she doing in there anyway?
With three minutes left to go, she finally makes an appearance. Beaming, he steps forward to meet her. They embrace once more, whisper one last goodbye. He is happy now. There are still two minutes to go but he figures he might as well leave. She'll be okay now. No point hanging around. On the way up the platform stairs, he keeps turning to look back at her, as if to reassure himself that she's still there. She is. She stands in the door of the coach, pressed to one side to let other passengers in, watching him until he reaches the top of the steps. Then, when he is out of sight, she goes back to her seat, settles into it with a small sigh. One minute later the train pulls out of the station.
People are so silly. People are so beautiful.